Main defensive line command post.
Commissar Walter was observing the precarious defensive line through binoculars, his expression grim. Suddenly, he noticed a huge commotion erupting on the enemy's flank.
He incredulously lowered his binoculars, rubbed his eyes, then sharply raised them again.
In his vision, a massive torrent of routed soldiers was assailing the enemy's main force from the side, and behind that torrent, a dozen or so figures in Imperial uniforms were vaguely visible, giving chase. They occasionally fired their weapons, sometimes threw grenades, pushing the chaos of thousands to a climax in an inconceivable manner.
"So valiant? Whose soldiers are these?!" Commissar Walter's voice was filled with shock.
The surrounding officers exchanged glances, clearly bewildered by this sudden turn of events.
Only an old Astra Militarum Soldier narrowed his eyes, carefully identified the direction, and said in a deep voice: "Commissar, they must have come from Disposal Area 7. Only that place, connected to the old site of Effluent Pipe 114, would allow them to rush here in one go."
Disposal Area 7... Commissar Walter's expression became somewhat uncertain and surprised.
Were they those greenhorns?
In fact, in Commissar Walter's eyes, those so-called new recruits were at best factory workers who had just picked up a lasgun, not glorious Astra Militarum Soldiers who had undergone rigorous training. He had assigned that secondary position to them as a temporary measure, and was even mentally prepared for them to collapse and the position to be lost at any moment.
He had never expected them to hold it.
But now, not only had they held it, they had also dealt a fatal blow to the enemy from the flank in a way he completely couldn't understand!
"Regardless, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
Walter's military acumen immediately made him cast aside distracting thoughts. He sharply lowered his binoculars, his eyes flashing with determination.
"Relay my order!" He turned to the comms officer, his voice loud and firm, "Rear heavy mortars, fire three volleys at the enemy's rear formation!"
He drew the chainsword from his waist and raised it high, its blade roaring to life.
"Full-line countercharge! For the Emperor!"
As Commissar Walter's chainsword roared, the clear bugle call of counterattack sounded from the Astra Militarum's main defensive line.
"For the Emperor!"
The long-suppressed Astra Militarum Soldiers let out a thunderous battle cry. They surged out of the trenches, bayonets fixed on their lasguns, forming a torrent of steel, pressing forward against the cultists' army, which had been thrown into disarray by the flank disturbance.
With the disciplined Hammer of the Emperor in front, and their 'allies' in a state of mental collapse and scattering on the flank, this dual pressure instantly crushed the cultists' already fragile organization. They lacked a sufficient number of junior officers who could stabilize morale, and what held the troops together were only the false promises of the dark Gods and fear of their superior sorcerers.
Commissar Walter calmly observed the battle, and after confirming that the enemy's offensive had been completely shattered and their formation scattered, he decisively issued new orders.
"Cease pursuit! All units regroup, clear the battlefield, and hold the line!"
He was not carried away by victory. Do not pursue a desperate foe, especially in this eerie hive city; blind pursuit was extremely dangerous.
The orders were faithfully executed, and the Astra Militarum Soldiers quickly stopped their pursuit and began to consolidate their forces.
However, the dozen or so players, who were already bloodthirsty, were not so obedient. They were not under Commissar Walter's command; their commander was 'Merit Points.' Seeing a large number of 'mobile exp' slipping away, they were unwilling to let them go.
"Don't run! Stand still, you bastards!"
"Your heads are worth a meltabomb!"
They chased a group of the fastest-running cultists, gleefully crossing a rusty, dilapidated metal bridge and rushing into a relatively open, abandoned industrial plaza.
The moment they stepped into the center of the plaza, an anomaly occurred.
A silent, sickly green wave swept out from the shadows of the plaza without warning. It was not fire, nor a shockwave, but a pure, malevolent, and despair-filled psychic power.
Wherever it passed, everything withered.
Whether it was the dozen or so players who wanted to charge further to earn more, or the hundreds of cultists they were chasing, none of them could even let out a scream in that sickly green light. Their bodies disintegrated and vanished like sand sculptures weathered by the wind, instantly turning into ashes swirling in the air.
The plaza, which had just been incredibly noisy, instantly became dead silent.
In the distant shadows, more cultists were 'stabilized' by their leaders using even more brutal methods—anyone attempting to retreat was mercilessly cut down by their companions behind them. After a bloody internal purge, this routed force regained its footing, but the fear pervading them was even thicker than before.
Commissar Walter, through his binoculars, witnessed this tragic scene in its entirety, and he felt a pang of regret for the sacrifice of those dozen or so brave individuals.
They had created a battle opportunity for him in a way he couldn't understand, but ultimately, their recklessness led to their demise. However, given their position and speed at the time, even if he wanted to save them, he wouldn't have had enough time.
This fleeting feeling of regret lasted only a second before it was completely suppressed by his iron will.
In this brutal war, sacrifice was the norm. He had witnessed too much death; if he grieved for every fallen soldier, he would get nothing done. The dead were gone, and the living still needed to fight.
He was now more curious about those greenhorns... those soldiers who had created a miracle, and what kind of beings they truly were.
Walter lowered his binoculars, turned around, and spoke in a steady, powerful voice.
"Have Robert from Position 7 come see me," he had just spoken when he immediately changed his mind.
"No," he said in a deep voice, "I'll go to his position myself."
When Commissar Walter entered Disposal Area 7 with two of his personal guards, he habitually frowned.
The defensive line before him, in the eyes of a professional soldier like him, was almost full of holes. The cover was constructed haphazardly, the fire points were chaotically arranged, and there were even several fortifications that had clearly just been overturned by explosions, piled up crookedly and left unrepaired. The entire position was permeated with a mixture of gunpowder smoke, blood, and... a strange sense of excitement.
He didn't say much. After all, these were just new recruits, and it was precisely this seemingly messy position that had just staged an unbelievable surprise attack.
"Robert?" Walter's voice was not loud, but it clearly echoed across the entire position.
Robert, who was directing the players to clear the battlefield, jolted and quickly scurried over, standing at attention and giving the aquila salute: "Reporting, Commissar, I'm here!"
Walter nodded and said in a businesslike tone: "Your performance today was excellent. The enemy's offensive has been temporarily repelled, and today's fighting is largely over. Reinforce the defensive line, treat the wounded, and prepare for tomorrow's battle."
The moment Walter's words fell, a blue light screen, visible only to Robert, popped up before his eyes.
『Main Quest: Hold the Line has been completed!』
『Quest Evaluation: Excellent』
『Quest Reward: Merit Points +1500』
A series of crisp system notifications sounded in his mind. Seeing the generous merit points credited, Robert was momentarily stunned, then a huge joy surged into his heart. He suddenly turned around, faced the group of players who were still slacking off and scavenging, and with all his might, raised his arms and cheered:
"Brothers! We succeeded! Mission accomplished!"
As if a signal, all players' personal terminals on the defensive line also received the mission completion notification at the same time.
After a brief silence, the entire defensive line erupted in thunderous cheers.
"Whoa!!!"
"Woohoo! Merit points received!"
"We're rich! We're rich!"
The defensive line, which had just been filled with the tense atmosphere of battle, instantly transformed into a lively marketplace. Players gathered in twos and threes, excitedly opening their system store interfaces.
"Quick, see what I can buy... Damn it, I'm still a little short for a power sword!"
"Who has a lot of merit points? Buy a deck of cards first, we'll start a game later!"
"Screw you, if you want to play cards, why don't you spend your merit points to buy them?"
"Has anyone teamed up to finish off those severely wounded guys? They've been shouting for a long time, it's quite pathetic."
Watching the chaotic and joyful scene before him, Commissar Walter's recently relaxed brow furrowed tightly again. This was simply disorganization! Lack of discipline!
Did they not know the war was not over? Had they not seen how those dozen or so comrades had just turned to ashes? This frivolous attitude was nothing like an army that had experienced a bloody battle; instead, it was like a group of drunks who had just stumbled out of a tavern.
However, just as he was about to reprimand them, he forcibly held back.
He tried to convince himself that perhaps he hadn't seen the full picture of this unit, or perhaps for this special company, it was precisely this almost blind optimism that allowed them to create such a miracle on the desperate battlefield?
Walter's gaze swept over the joyful young faces. He suddenly realized that ever since this planet had fallen into war, ever since Chaos corruption, genestealers outbreaks, ork infestations, and dark eldar raids had followed one after another, he hadn't seen a smile on any Astra Militarum Soldier's face for a very, very long time.
There was only numbness, exhaustion, fear, and forcibly suppressed despair.
But these people before him, they were laughing, making noise, as if death was just an inconsequential game.
"Those iditiots are the bravest soldiers I met!"